Shaheed Bhagat Singh College (University Of Delhi)

Project Work in Applied English B.Com (FYUP) Semester- II Translation of Chapter 1 of “Dastaan Khoon Aur Shamsheer Ki” by Fatima Bhutto

Submitted ToMs. Komal Agarwal

Acknowledgement

We would like to express our sincere gratitude to all those people who contributed to this project. We are immensely indebted to our teacher-in-charge Ms. Komal and Ms. Imon who gave us the opportunity to do our project on translating the I Chapter of the book Dastaan Khoon Aur Shamshir Ki written by Fatima Bhutto and helped us with their valuable ideas and suggestions.

We are also grateful to our parents who were a great help during the completion of the project and provided us with their moral support and guidance.

Last but not least we are grateful to every member of the group who put in their best efforts in the successful completion of the project.

ATale OfBlood And SwordFatima Bhutto

December 19, 1996; it was around 3 o'clock in the morning and we were in the drawing room. Our house was built in Abstract-Art Deco style and the drawing room was its box shaped part with no windows. It was decorated

with brownish silk walls and Pakistani Modern Art. We had just returned from Avari Hotel after dinner. My father's anniversary was last night however, his friends invited us to celebrate it the next day. He was 42 years old now. Avari was one of the best hotels of Karachi, which was set up by Dinshaw Avari, the head of an old Parsi family. As it was Pakistani culture, he had named this Hotel in the name of his son, Byram Dinshawji Avari. It was not spurious like other neighborhood foreigns hotels. Those days sky-high buildings were far away from fantasies of architects. During those days only Avari was famous as one of the tallest building. But nowadays, to rise above the smoke and poverty of the city, banks are in a rat race to build the tallest building. In the mid-90's , Avari hotel boasted of running Karachi's only Japanese Restaurant “Fujiyama” . We had eaten there that night.

That evening, Papa was dressed in dark blue suit. It was one of those suits, which fitted him perfectly. Like his Father, “Zulfikar Ali Bhutto”, Papa was also quite fond of clothes. He had a gracious personality; about 6”3' in height, black and white hair, and well trimmed mustaches.

After returning to Pakistan, his new social life was very busy and full of stress and in last two years Papa's weight had increased a little, for which we used to tease him. But he never minded, insisting that soon he would start dieting. And we patted his belly for this.

That day, Papa had signed the Avari Hotel guest book. Supervisors of the hotel opened it in a style and the irony was that they opened the same page on which once General Zia-Ul-Haq made an emphatic comment. He could not open a worst page than that. General Zia had lead that Army, because of which my grandfather's government had been dismissed. After arresting and torturing my grandfather for two years he eventually killed him. They say that he was hanged but we never saw his dead body. Without notifying us and before the news of his demise could reach the masses people, the army quietly buried my grandfather. Papa looked at General's handwriting. He silently read General's ideas regarding Fujiyama's finest cuisine and teased me by making a funny face. And then he started writing after a few pages.That night was one of the few pleasant moments that we spent there during dinner. During dinner papa was quite silent. Papa was sitting in front of me with his chin on twisted hands. I was a little nervous; seeing my Papa so quiet

and serious who was always happy and confident.

Two days ago, when my Papa arrived in Karachi to Peshawar late at night, he was very calm and relaxed. He told me and Mama about his journey during dinner. After midnight the Intercom (Land line phone) rang in the sitting room. This time phone could be only from kitchen or office of 71 Clifton, which was in the neighborhood; without them no one could be on the other side of phone call. And Kitchen was nearby and Asdhar, our waiter, if he wanted to talk us something then he could come himself at sitting room, so this phone could be only from the Office. Papa answered the phone immediately after the first ring, “Ji?”(respectfully)Hearing the phone call for few minutes he spoke up, “Hurry up,get the car ready.”

His silent mood had disappeared now. Papa put the phone down, got up and started walking towards the door of the room which was linked to my parents' room. “What happened?”, I asked. “They took Ali Sonara. They raided his home and took him away.” ''Where are you going?”, I asked gently. Mom patted my back and assured me that everything will be all right. “I will find him”, Papa said and went out of the drawing room.

Ali Sonara was from Lyari. It was a densely populated area that was politically very revolutionary and was also one of the poorest in Karachi. He belonged to a Kutchi Memon family, which was a small Sunni community; roots of which can be traced to Rann of Kutch and Sindh's deserts (places in Gujarat). He was in favour of 'Bhutto' family from the days of his school. Sonara had dropped his studies after the dismissal of Zulfikar Ali's government in 1977 and since then he became one of the most important political activists of Lyari.

He was involved in “Bhutto Bachao Samiti” from his community and he worked tirelessly against cancellation of constitution of 1973 by General Zia. Sonara joined “Movement for the Restoration of Democracy” (MRD) after the death of Zulfikar Ali by Army Government and worked along with my Aunt Benazir Bhutto for about 10 years. He was a member of Karachi committee in this movement and he spent most of his time distributing pamphlets against Martial law and against the unlawful hanging of Bhutto

and in organizing secret meetings and protests to get local support.

In 1984 when monarchy of Zia was at its peak, a bomb was planted in famous Bori market of Karachi. It was a crowded market. The market was named after a religious Bohri Muslim community who are recognized by to their special clothing and hats. Most of the victims of the blast were the children and women who used to visit this market to buy clothes and colourful domestic goods. After hearing the news of blast Ali Sonara rushed to the market from his home in Lyari which was not too far.

He was sure that the army was behind the explosion. Bhutto's supporters couldn't protest against it or they would have been jailed. In the worst case scenario, the entire community would have been publicly whipped in a stadium. General Zia had already crushed the rebellion ruthlessly and Sindh community leader Sonara had been jailed in Karachi Jail several times for protesting. He knew it very well that further rebellions will bring forth more severe punishments on the rebels.

As soon as he reached the market, he started putting wounded in ambulances and made arrangements for blood. When he was comforting affected families, Zia's chief minister Ghaus Ali Shah arrived at the scene along with some movie stars to survey the damage. Ali Shah held rebel army(commonly known as terrorists) responsible for blast and promised that they will be apprehended soon and severely punished. Sonara lost his calm as soon as he saw Ali Shah. He ran towards him and punched him right on his face. It was an act of frustration. The Chief minister immediately got him arrested as a convict.

However, he was released due to lack of evidence. When Benazir Bhutto returned to Karachi from London after a long time in May 1986, Sonara organised a welcome party along wih major protestants, especially Ali Hingora. At the same time Muzahir Qaum Movement(M.Q.M) was established in Karachi by Sindh supporters of General Zia. Karachi was the heart of operation of People's Party at that time. MQM was established as an alternative for people's party so that when it fails, supporters could be gathered via force. Lyari was the first region to be occupied by MQM and this was the time of flaunting the Party's colours. Sonara took the risk. He

organised a mass gathering in a stadium in Kakri maidan. Benazir expressed her gratitude to everybody and called Sonara, her chief bodyguard, her brother. Benazir was new in integrated party politics at that time. She wanted to accomplish every goal necessary to propel her to power. So she deeply trusted Sonara. Sonara was a young leader who organised mass gatherings throughout the city. He was also the chief security officer of Bhutto and accompanied her everywhere. As a member of Karachi committee, Sonara was centre of PPP's public politics and played an important role in Benazir's victory in elections.

But Sonara was becoming a hurdle for her post-elections. His younger brother and my father were causing troubles for her from outside the country. When Benazir was constituting her 1st cabinet on advice of her husband Asif Zardari, Sonara's sharp retorts were irritating her. Hostility between Sonara and Bhutto was clearly visible in a party meeting of 71 clifton. Sonara was against favouring industrialists and capitalists of Pakistan and Benazir couldn't tolerate any criticism directed at her. At last she ordered him to behave as she is the party head.

However, Sonara replied that as a member of party he has complete right to advice her against doing anything wrong. When Benazir's goverment collapsed in 1990, Sonara went underground. He had made many enemies. Powerful party members had sidelined him from the party which he established against military dictatorship. He came out from hiding when general elections were declared in 1993. When my father filed nomination for election Sonara joined his election campaign. Benazir always feared this was going to happen.

That night Ali Sonara visited Sima and Inayat Hussain two loyal veterans of PPP. Sima Hussain was former labour minister and had joined the party during leadership of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and. She even worked with Benazir for a while but when party priorities changed to money and power she left it. Sima too joined my father' party (which was established in the name of 'Shaheed Bhutto' in 1995 as a reform movement) as a leader in the women wing.

People living aroud Lyari started facing all types of troubles for protesting

against government. Sonara started living with Hussain family with his wife Sakina and his two kids to evade police. But they ultimately found him. They entered the house without warrant and arrested Sonara. Sakina informed our 70 clifton's office of this incident. Sonara made some calls from the phone in the house which were being tapped by police thus compromising hi location. Sakina was completely distraught and repeatedly asked where they took him and what would they do with him.

I remember my father immediately leaving the house but my mother kept her calm. I followed my father in the drawing room and tried to stop him. It was already past midnight, couldn't he wait till morning. He didn't need to leave immediately. I tried to dissuade him but he replied, “Fati i should be with my supporters this time”. I started crying. He requested me to let him leave. I gave my attempts and went to my mother for comfort. We were standing on the doorway when my father left in dead of the night.

Karachi is often cosidered one of the most dangerous cities of the world. With a population of 160-180 million this city was underdeveloped and poor. Law enforcers were corrupt, violent, misused there authority and there image in public was very bad. In 1990, during the second tenure of Benazir, the extra judicial deaths were on rise. The string of political murderers was made within the police force. They could be identified by alias of dramatic codenames. And in the guise of a clash, it was a common thing for police to shoot their targets. To find Sonara, my father had to pass through such a city at night.

Papa first of all went to the centre of CIA which was situated near Lee Market of Karachi Garden Area. It is beside the commercial hub of Lyari and Karachi, made in old colonial style. After reaching police station, my father directly went to the duty officer. According to the releasing news of that time period the arrest order of Sonara was from CIA. If this arrest was not unlawful then official papers containing proper details about the date, time, place and charges should have produced before making the arrest. But despite the request of my father, there was no proof presented associted with police custody of Sonara.

Papa and his guards who always stayed with him in Karachi. They left the

CIA Garden for the police station of SSP- South, which is on minimum distance from Lee Market and few steps above in the list of strongest police station the charge of which was in the hands of a notorious senior SP whose name was Wajid Durrani.

It was 2 o’ clock in the morning. As the time passed by, it was very tough to know about the arrest and news of Sonara. The police of Karachi was famous as an army of hirelings. And is well known for its unlawful activities. If there is no warrant, it means that the dead body is found in a garbage or nearby any road, then there is no government accountability. When my father reached the SSP- South police station, it too just like CIA Garden was almost unoccupied.There was no one else other than a Pathan Assitant Superintendent, sitting behind a bench. Papa went near the bench. As a selected member of parliament, papa had the right to go to any government office; be it an hospital, school or ministry. “Where is the record of arrest of Sonara?”, he asked again. The Assitant Superintendent replied raising his shoulders. “I don’t know”.

My father again repeated the question. Later on, he told me that when he saw the officer slowly putting his hands on the drawer under the bench and pulling it, there was no sound of swishing of paper or toddling of a pen. There was nothing except a pistol in the drawer, which papa and his guard had feared.”Get up”. Papa screamed and pulled the collar of the police officer.”Tell everybody DIG, IG and SSP too. I won't return till I see the warrant for arresting Ali Sonara . If he is in danger, then all of you are too”. They also went to one other police station – CIA station of Napier Road. But they returned home without any incident. It had been two hours since they left home.

The trap had been set up. My father who was very hasty and had a loose temperament had done, what they expected him to do. Till next noon, we saw the first tank standing in front our house. 18 September was the 42nd Birthday of Papa. As I woke up in the morning, I went down to find him. I hardly slept last night. Whole night I was in worried about the arrest of Ali Sonara, and about the result of papa’s midnight activities following the arrest. As was guessed, next day the news about the intrusion of papa in many of the police station was published in all the

newspapers. There was no reference about the unlawful arrest of Sonara and about the involvement of police in his disappearing. Papa spent the day waiting for the report of Ali Sonara and we waited for the birthday party which was going to happen in the evening.

That noon, when papa was getting ready for the evening, I went to talk to him. He was polishing his shoes. He was in a habit to do the little chores of his daily routine very neatly – whether it was to arrange books, pens or to put cups in the cupboards or to polish his shoes in the evening he did everything in a very special way. “Papa, can I ask one question?”. I asked it by putting my hand on the door. He saw me and smiled, “ask anything Fatuski”. He said using my Russian name.

“Is mom my legal guardian?” I asked with a tremble. Papa was still smiling He was working around the stand of polished shoes beside the bed and almirah. “Yes, of course, but why are you asking this question?” I don’t know why I asked. This thought never came to my mind before. I only knew that if anything happens to my father, I wanted to be safe. “Papa, are you hundred per cent sure that after you, mom will be my legal guardian”. I forced papa. Papa put down his things and came to me, he put his hand below my chin, pull my face towards him, “Don’t worry, I’m sure”, and kissed my forehead.

We both knew why I was asking this. When my father divorced my real mom, I was only three years old that time – Fauziya. I hadn't see her for many years. My father raised me from my childhood, from making food for me to cutting my hair, to carry me to school, all the work was done by him, for me. I had the feeling of having a mother when he met Ginva after my fourth birthday. “Papa are you completely sure that you are right?” He said by nodding, “yes”. “Then can you give me the document that can prove this ?”

Papa laughed loudly and removed his hand from my head. “From where I have learned to be eccentric.” He asked me, “Yeah Yeah, I have the documents. Do you want them right now?”No, I said. I only wanted to assure myself that you really have them.

The celebration started in the evening and ended very soon. Many friends came with fruits, sweets and funny cards. For the whole evening I just sat

beside my father in our velvety drawing room. In the dining room mom served the food in the exquisite silver plates belonging to my grandfather Shahnawaz's time. We had mid-eastern 'Meze', 'Tabbouleh' and roasted mutton. For a moment we felt as if we were in our Damascus house, safe and away from the dangers and violence of Karachi. But it was not so. Now and then papa went up to the phone, to get the whereabouts of Ali Sonara but in a very quiet way.They did not want to scare us, or even trouble us. We were not getting any information. And worst of all, the government was preparing a case against my father.

There were a few small explosions; small crackers were burnt near the industrial areas and the government offices. There were no any reports of any casualties. It was however a very stressful situation. The evening newspapers carried various depositions by many government officials that it was the P.P.P, S.B and my father behind these explosions.

We saw another tank in the evening, which was stationed right behind the first one. By the next morning there was a third one on the right side of the house. It was blocking the offices of Number 71, Clifton. Two days later, on 20th September, 4 fully armed vehicles were stationed on all four corners of the house. We were surrounded.

~ ~ ~“Do you have any regrets in life?” I asked my father. It was evening.

We had returned from the gloomy Avari Hotel. He was sitting in his green chair, resting his arms on the armrest, keeping one foot over his other. He ruffled his hair with his fingers, like he often did when he was in deep thought. “No”, he said, turning towards me, “I have fought with the government that killed my brother and my father, and for that I feel proud. Wherever we failed, we failed, but I have not let this go without a fight. We opposed with our full might, and I will do it all again, if need be.” Saying this, he leaned back into the chair. We spent the rest of the time with small talk. For a little while, we forgot everything else and just spent the night cracking jokes; we were lost in our own world. Father was making fun at my Mother, and she was laughing with him. They were carefree and one question from me brought them harshly back to earth.

“You should write a book”, I said. He lifted his arms above his head and laughed loudly. “As long as I am alive, I will not be able to write anything. They won’t let me write what I know”“What do you mean? You have to do this!” I exclaimed. “You have to write a book based on your life papa, it would so interesting”. But he laughed again and said, this time slowly, “No I can’t write that. Can you do that for me? You will write a book based on my life.”He smiled at me. Father had a beautiful spirit that neither I nor any other grown person had ever seen. His life was filled with dangers and uncertainties, yet he never forgot to smile. I immediately picked up a pen and paper with the intention of writing a few introductory notes. “Not now”, he said, “write it after I’m dead”. I was devastated. “Why, why should I write it after your death?” The hopelessness of the past few days creeped upon me again. “The situation is now more dangerous than before”, he said, looking at me. His eyed were sad. I did not know then that he was having the same feeling of uncertainties that I was having for the past many days.

~ ~ ~It was Saturday, the 20th of September.

By evening, my father would be dead.Our house was bustling with activity in the morning. The servants were

busy making food. Mother was busy preparing for the party for my brother’s 6th Birthday, which was to be held the next day. We had decided the hold the party in the Sindbad Amusement Park. It was only 10 minutes away from our house. During the 1970s, this was built as a casino, but with the permission of Islam, it was converted into a park.

After staying for almost two years in that room, it was being redecorated. Sometime during the 70s, both of my aunts spent their carefree youth in this room. My father woke me up in the T.V room upstairs. During the 1965 wars, this room was used as a shelter from the bombings.

I got ready, and went to look at the progress made to renovate my room. My parents had a small fight as to who gets to decorate my room. The tried to sway me with promises of a disco ball right in the middle of the room. They almost succeeded too. Because their decision was completely rubbish. My

mother knew that I liked green and feminine decorations, whereas my father knew nothing about this. He still thought of me as an eight year old tomboy. “we can have swinging doors like they have in American Saloons”. “No father we cannot have that here.” “Oh sure, then let’s install those circular windows similar to submarines.” “No, just the disco ball is enough.”

We entered our room, which was completely white. It was only the first layer of paint, and apart from an iron cot and two small tables, which were stacked one top of one another, the room was empty. The room was looking like a hospital ward, it was very clean.

“Right! So I bet you are happy with your mother’s designs”. He began chuckling. He looked like a school child whenever he laughed like that. There were crinkles on the corner of his eyes. He had brought a few stained glass windows from Sindh. They were orange, blue and green in colour, but Mother did not allow him to install them anywhere in the house. In truth, they were pretty rubbish. But I had taken my father’s side by saying that they were indeed very beautiful to look at. And as a reward, I ended up with them. They had been installed already and the sunlight streaming through the stained glass drenched the whole room in colours. Father came out of the room with me. While we were descending the stairs, he said quietly to me, “At least the windows look good.”

My father called a press conference at two in the afternoon. Journalists from the local newspapers and various reporters from T.V channels assembled in the press room of 71, Clifton.Papa entered the room and sat behind a table and addressed the press conference. Beside him, were sitting Ashique Zatoi, the president of Sindh branch of the party and Malik Sarwar Baagh, an elderly member of P.P.P (S.B). Papa was wearing a dark blue salwar kameej and it seemed almost black and he wore a locket containing two pointed sword of Hazrat Ali. Hazrat Ali was a disciple of Mohammad Pagamber who became the first imam of Shia Islam. Papa wasn’t religious but he respected Hazrat Ali since he fought for the rights of Muslims when they were in minority and under threat. The sword was small and golden with written word ‘lailla-h-illallah ‘which means there is Allah but no god. Papa used to wear a watch in his left wrist which was given by his father.

Papa called Yar Mohammad and Sajjad to speak to them before speak to press. These men were his bodyguard. They were political workers but they do not left his side when he came from jail. They protected him as like their own father and they were always close to him. He had information from the police. Papa explained. He said Yar Mohamed and Sajaad to leave Karachi. ‘Go wherever you want’ no matter but I don’t want to see you and your family nearby from today. We don’t know what they did with Sonara but I want to see both of you safe until the facts are revealed. Yar Mohammad and Sajjad will not be going to Surjani city along with papa after press conference. I can't risk your life , he said. Conditions were too dangerous to take a chance. They do not ask about the information about their risky lives and what it means but papa insists that they have to leave city today at all. No more discussion. There was pin drop silence when papa started the press conference. The newspapers were full of reports of Papa visiting various police stations. Some true some not . On 18 September, General Naseerullah Babar, a powerful interior minister of Benazir, (who reffered the Talibanis of Afghanistan as 'my boys') announced that there were going to be two big bomb blasts as a protest against the arrest of Ali Sonara. He made it clear that the preparators of violence were from either M.Q.M or the Shaheed Bhutto party. As was expected, after the blasts, the government blamed my father’s party for the blast. On 20th September, all the journalists were eager to hear about the facts about the blasts from Murtaza Bhutto. The forecast of General Babar was the headline of all the newspapers, papa said.

Papa began his statement. This is all preplanned conspiracy against me by police officers like Wajid Durrani and Shah Beig Shuddal. The rumour was that both the notorious officers achieved high ranks because of their close relationship with Benazir’s husband. Shuddal was the district inspector of Karachi and Wajid was the senior superintendent and one of the head of the police stations where my father visited on 17th September. But papa mispronounced the name of one person, it wasn’t Shah Beig Shuddal, it was Shoaib Shuddal. We wouldn’t forget his name forever. These both men wanted to kill me under the supervision of Abdullah

Shah, the chief minister of Sindh. Papa explained. My life is in danger at present. I want to appeal to the government through this press conference that I'm ready. Bring a warrant accusing me and my party workers and I’ll myself come with you. And in fact my father’s packed briefcase was by the side of his bed since the night of 17th September.

I have been accused by the police of visiting the police stations. I want to make it clear to clear to them that I am an elected MLA and it is my right to enter any government office. At this papa lifted the picture of Ali Sonara. It was a photograph of one of the Benazir’s jalsa. She was standing up with her head and shoulder out of the jeep and waving to the entire crowd around her. Some of the people were standing of all side for her protection. They were her bodyguards. Sonara was circled in the picture. Papa pointed in the picture and said that the government took this man. The interior minister ‘Naserrullah Babar’ said that there would be a blast after Sonara’s arrest and for this either M.Q.M or shaheed Bhutto party are responsible. If he had such information earlier then what did he do to protect or to stop such blast. There was nothing to do since it is the punishment for P.P.P (S.B). The interior minister knew this all because it was their plan. I want to tell the government that we are a political party and we'll protest against these unlawful arrests and executions in a political way. We are not going to hide at all. We are ready. It is not my style to hide behind my political workers when in trouble. I am in the front and they are behind me. In the next room of press conference in 70 Clifton, we had lunch and then for the preparation of Zulfi’s birthday celebration, we left for the sea view. When my mom and I returned, papa was looking in a hurry walking in the lobby. Press conference was over. Ashiq Jatoi was standing nearby the car waiting for him. I ran towards father to talk to him but he looked tense and was in a hurry. I'm late, I have to go . He said stroking my back and moved towards the wooden doors. I said ‘papa wait'. Let me change, I also want to go with you. I had only climed two stairs; he stopped me by gently grabbing my elbow. No Fati, you can’t come with me, the conditions are not good. Stay here, I’ll be back soon. I just stood on the stairs and looked at him walking out of the door and shutting it.

As papa walked towards the car, he saw both Yar Mohammad and

Sajjad . ‘I told both of you not to come with me.' The threats to them were serious. They were closest person to my father and papa used to depend on them a lot.

“How can we leave you in such a situation ? ” said Yar Mohammad, “ And if the situation is as serious as you are saying then our place is beside you rather than our homes.” continued Sajjad. They could not be convinced in any way. Papa called the guards and warned them that if police tries to arrest him on his way to the jalsa, they must surrender peacefully and let them show the warrant and he will go with them. Everybody nodded in affirmative. They had understood.

Four cars departed from 70 Clifton, that Friday. Ashiq Jatoi was on driver's seat of a Blue Land Cruiser, Papa beside him and Yar Mohammad exactly behind him and with them were Asif Jatoi, Ashiq's driver and a servant who used accompany Papa on his trips. A pick-up truck with six people was in front of them consisiting of papa's bodyguards Mehmoud, Qaisar, Sattar Rajpar, Rahim Barohi and two others. A white Alto car was also there just beside Papa's car. There were three people in it, two of them had come for the jalsa and Sajjad. Sajjad insisted on the Alto to go beside Papa's car so that in case of any mishap it could act as a cover. In the end was a white Pajero which belonged to a gentleman. He was not a Party worker but was a well wisher and had come for the jalsa.

The journey till the town of Surjani, which was outside Karachi, was quite long, thanks to the traffic of Karachi. The little caravan of papa towards Surjani was now on the road to Las bela of Balochistan. While going from Clifton they went past The Teen Talwar which are three swords made out of marble. Reaching to the sky they have Unity, Faith and Discipline engraved on them. They would have passed through the Saddar and its markets especially Zainab Bazar where one would find women's garments and Romper suits for children hanging outside the shops. After that they would have passed through the cooperative market near the Zentila Mens Tailors, through the Head Post Office of Karachi and then, electronics market where one would find cheap electrical items. The last moments of my father's life were beautiful. He would have passed through the tomb of Qaide-E-Azam Jinna. In the north the caravan which now had become of thirty-five cars

passed through the Guru mandir. This locality was once famous for an ancient hindu temple but now is known for its shattered bus stand used by people to go in and out of the city.

At around 6 p.m. Papa's bodyguards passed through the tawdry marriage halls which were located on the periphery of Surjani town. Surjani's boundary started from the police post of a dusty square. From there circling towards the streets one would pass through the flyovers and concrete bridges but there were no fast food restaurants, fruit shops and malls with big cars.

In the town you would find dry bushes beside roads with waste poly bags latched onto them. Papa was moving towards Yusuf Gauth , a good locality on the border of Surjani town. He was supposed to address a poorer section of people there. Many party workers warned Papa about going to Surjani. In august he had a major jalsa scheduled in Lyari. Malik Sarvar Bagh was speaking so emotionally that it was hard to understand his words. Everybody tried to explain to Meer Sahab , “ Don't do the jalsa in Surjani. Lyari gave you a grand welcome just like your father had received. Why do you bother about a small town like Surjani ?” But papa didn't postpone it. He had already promised Maqbool Channa, one of the most devoted party worker from Yusuf Gauth.

A huge crowd of around 2,000 people had assembled in a large ground. Papa came out of the car and saw the police force deployed there. There dilapidated cars parked just outside the quarter. Qaiser remembers that police had 20 mobile units and trucks meant for carrying prisoners. Although they were just standing behind the stage doing nothing besides staring at the people, assembled there to listen to Papa, in an attempt to scare them.

At first Papa went to the new office of P.P.P. (S.P.) for minorities with Yusuf Gill which was opened by Gill himself. Papa and Gill were having a little chat while walking towards the office accompanied by excited supporters shouting slogans like “Here comes, Bhutto.” “Murtaza ,Leader of workmen”, “Murtaza,Leader of the poor”. The new office was formally opened by cutting the ribbon and after taking a little walk in the new office Papa hoisted the party flag on the silver pole in front of the office. On the way to the stage papa suddenly stopped. It was time for the evening namaaz,

Azaan had started and the sun was setting off. It was not the voice of muazzin but the sight of dusk which got his attention. He called Siddique who was a cheerful partyworker cum photographer to capture the sky which was looking really beautiful at that moment and papa also said that he will always remember this.

He moved up to the stage waving his hand towards the crowd. Some women welcomed him with jasmine and rose flowers on the stage. Ashiq Jatoi who was recently elected as the party cheif in Sindh was greeting the other party workers who had come to congratulate him.

Papa was still standing, meeting with other women who were introducing their children and themselves.